To my Own Silence

Blank page, blinking cursor- I stare at a puzzle with no clues. Thoughts stumble, scatter, like dandelion seeds on the wind-beautiful, unreachable, they slip through urgent fingers. Each word I chase dissolves into the hush between heartbeats, the dull ache of meaning unmade. Ideas come rarely-a trickle, not a stream-every line feels heavy, every metaphor a mountain. Still, in this pause, a quiet practice grows: Faith that in waiting, my emptiness may yet turn into inspiration... I let it go... what breathe, and try, just try, to write my own silence! Sreepriya K